


Where's and Why's (And Living Lies)

by RDcantRead



Series: Keeping His Thoughts To Himself (He'd Be Leaving Soon) [1]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Depression, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Roger Taylor (Queen), Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 14:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20584256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RDcantRead/pseuds/RDcantRead
Summary: When Roger wakes up, he immediately knows that it's not going to be a good day.The following ones aren't any better.





	Where's and Why's (And Living Lies)

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags! Discretion is advised.
> 
> Title taken from "I Want it All" by Queen.

When Roger wakes up, he immediately knows that it’s not going to be a good day. Not that the previous one was good, or for that matter any of the days from the past however long it’s been. 

He’s not really sure.

(The last few months have had him walking in a daze.) He doesn't think he could recall anything he's been doing for the last forever.

(He can't seem to focus on the here and now.) Everything's dragging on and on for as long as he can remember. 

And maybe it's because it's always Roger that gets made fun of. It's always Roger that isn't taken seriously. It's always Roger that can't be mature.

Sometimes (everyday) he thinks (knows) that maybe (maybe? Try definitely) everyone else is right. He is just a good for nothing drama queen that doesn't contribute anything to anyone. 

But he's fine. He's totally, absolutely, completely fine. There's nothing wrong with him.

And it doesn't matter what anyone else might think or say or insinuate, he's perfectly fine.

(He's living a lie, and he knows it, he just can't seem to articulate how he's feeling.)

But it doesn't really matter, he doesn't really matter, so what he's feeling doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter. (So why does it hurt so deep inside?)

He makes his way into the studio. They're not going on tour at the moment, and after the wild ride of tours and albums from their earlier years, the break feels… dazed, confused. 

They're working on their next album, and it's already promising to be better than the previous one. But Roger can't seem to get a grip on himself.

(Forgotten by the wayside in the excitement of Hot Space, and always ignored, his only redeeming value his looks.)

The feeling of being overlooked doesn't alleviate following the release of the Hot Space album, indicating a different Queen sound, and a different atmosphere in the studio following John and Brian's reconciliation.

But Roger hasn't changed. He's been pushed into the background, his songs never good, never a hit. He's never been as good as his bandmates. 

He may not have always known it, but now that he's noticed, it's impossible to ignore. And he tries so hard to continue like he always did, but he really can't bring himself to contribute anything that he knows will always be shit. 

So he sits in the back, either on the sofa behind the soundboard or behind the drum kit, doing what he was told. 

It was better like this. And he knew it. He knew it wasn't some weird delusion, he knew his worth. (And that was the honest truth.)

His routine starting a few months ago was continued upon his return to his house. Eat dinner, alone. Drink some tea, brush his teeth, take a shower. And go to bed to start another merciless day being beaten down by life's petty grievances. (That sounds a bit dramatic. Maybe he should tone down the hyperbole?)

It's when it's finally gotten to be too much, when the loneliness crashing down on him gets too much, when the endless days get too much, when all he's felt like doing is lying in bed all day, that he knows that he can't continue on like this.

(But he's fine. He's absolutely, completely, totally, 100% fine.) 

He can't tell anyone. He knows that what he's feeling doesn't matter (he doesn't matter) and that they'd tell him to suck it up. He's telling himself to suck it up. 

And who would want an annoying, self-centred bastard of a person alive? He certainly doesn't. And he definitely doesn't want to be alive.

He can't go on like this. He needs to find a way out. (But he's fine. He's always fine.)

And he can't believe he's even fucking considering it, but it seems like it's the only way out. (And it's not like anyone will miss him, not like they'd miss Freddie or Brian or John. He's just the drummer who's written no memorable songs and contributed no valuable input.)

He can't bring himself to be guilty about the thoughts he's having, though sometimes, when the darkness isn't as overwhelmingly blinding, they scare him. He's scaring himself. It's not normal to have thoughts of fucking suicide. It's not fucking normal. 

It's scary and frightening and terrifyingly exhilarating. The thoughts of leaving this world of pain and numbness and loneliness and routine bring a rush that he just can't describe, the taboo nature just exacerbating the feeling. 

(The thoughts leave him sick to the stomach, his dinner left half untouched, half puked up in the toilet at one in the morning.)

And he's not seeking attention. He isn't doing this for attention. (He really isn't, but he knows that if he goes through with it, he'll be labelled as just another Rock Star thinking that their life was shit. And he knows his life isn't shit, but that doesn't make it any better.) 

He wants to get this whole mess off his chest. Get it over with. Do the world a favour and get rid of the problem. The problem being him. 

The days turn to weeks and Roger's fragile determination to keep going no matter what is faltering. He's taken to playing Keep Yourself Alive and Don't Try Suicide from their earlier albums on repeat just to dissuade himself from the idea. Hearing his best friend's voice telling him not to go through with the plans in his head makes a big difference.

(Even though Roger knows that Freddie isn't singing to him, he's singing to people that actually matter. Brian isn't writing to him to keep himself alive, he's writing for all the lonely souls out there.)

Roger's daily routine shifts to encompass the bouts of tears that randomly appear out of nowhere. His performance in the studio is lackluster, and he knows that the others are a short while away from asking him to leave. (He'd have asked himself to leave a long time ago. He's asking himself to leave.)

They have a free Saturday, one day. And it's a sunny day for once, though the sun shining through the window does little to lift Roger's mood. It hadn't done anything for him for a long time, he's sat through many sunny days and they're always the same. 

The free day doesn't surprise Roger, and the fact that the others won't be around doesn't surprise him either. 

Really, he's just over exaggerating, he's perfectly fine, he's just… just making it up. None of it is real. (He's lying to himself. This is so very real, and so very serious. And Roger is really not fine.)

The thoughts plaguing his mind are circling and twisting and bubbling under the calm surface, waiting for the vulnerability to show for them to strike. It doesn't take long. 

When Roger wakes up, he immediately knows that it's not going to be a good day. The previous one wasn't good, and he's not going to live to see the next one. 

He ends the day on a shower and a bottle of prescription sleeping pills. Maybe he won't wake up at one in the morning now. (Maybe he won't wake up at all.)

(Roger was always very good at living a lie, right to the very end.) 


End file.
